


Cold Night

by AlterEgon



Category: Winnetou - Karl May
Genre: M/M, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlterEgon/pseuds/AlterEgon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, a cold night will bring on entirely new ideas...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/gifts).



> Dear Alby_Mangroves,  
> I hope you enjoy this little treat.  
> It's not a pairing I would usually write, but I thought I'd try to take up the challenge and give it a go. I hope it turned out enjoyable for you.

I pulled my coat closer around me as I stared into the night, straining eyes and ears to pick out something – anything, really.

Of course I know it was a silly thing to do. You did not sit and strain to see in the darkness or to listen in the silence of the night.

If you did, your mind was sure to betray you. It would play tricks on you and show you things that were not there, simply because you were waiting for them to appear. Because you were hoping for them, expecting them.

What you did do was keep your senses open, but relaxed, let everything that came at you flow into your eyes and ears and pass through you so you could filter it, pick at it, and snatch up the little differences that alerted you to the glint of fire on a feral eye, moonlight reflected on a piece of metal, an animal sound out of place, or even the tell-tale crack of a clumsy footfall that could not belong to any four-legged creature.

I knew all of that and more, and yet there I was, sitting by the fire, my back to the light, facing into the darkness and trying to make out something to focus on.

Anything would be welcome, even if was merely a trick of my imagination.

A shudder rolled over me. The cold, I told myself. Only the cold.

It was cold. My back was kept warm enough by the fire burning behind me, marking the centre of our camp, but the rest of me was feeling icy.

I did not have to sit watch like that. In fact, our little campsite was the safest that we had slept in in weeks, easily defended, almost -impossible to attack. The fire would keep away all creatures except human bandits.

I could have slept.

Moreover, I could have slept warm.

Earlier that night, I had gone to sleep comfortably wrapped in my coat, side by side with my friend and blood brother Winnetou. Both our blankets had been heaped on top of us, and with our body heat accumulating under them, it had actually been quite a pleasant sleeping arrangement.

That was, until I had started to get distracted from my original plan of simply shutting my eyes and sleeping through the night. Even now, I had no idea how one could possibly get distracted from such a simple plan.

Still, a few minutes into the night, after shifting against each other and the ground for a bit until we had both found positions in which we were reasonably comfortable as well as warm, a certain awareness started to intrude into my thoughts – a kind of awareness in the depths of my mind that I had never encountered before.

It wasn't as if we had never slept that close together before. Quite the opposite. We had shared blankets on numerous occasions, and body heat in cold nights.

But I had never before felt myself react to my blood brother's presence like that. As I tried to fall asleep, instead of calming down, my mind started to race. I lay silently, listening to the sound of Winnetou's deepening breaths. He was probably already sound asleep.

Or was he, too, staring into the dark, star-less skies, unable to get to sleep and merely pretending that he was? I suppressed the urge to check. I had no desire to give myself away.

It did not take long before I caved – which in itself, was actually quite unusual for me. I pride myself on much better self-restraint most days. Even now I cannot fully explain what came over me when I turned and, half sitting up for a better look, carefully studied the Apache.

Winnetou's eyes were closed in that perfectly chiselled face, his raven-black hair kept out of his face by the snakeskin headband that he had not taken off any more than either of us had gotten out of our boots. We were ready to jump up and ride at the first sign of trouble after all.

He shifted towards me a little in his sleep, trying to find the heat source that had suddenly moved away from his side.

Sitting propped on one hand, I spent a long time watching the play of the firelight on my friend's features, each moment made unique by the ever-moving flames. If I had had my drawing equipment in reach, I might have sat the rest of the night producing sketch after sketch, study after study, of the sleeping man. We might have laughed about them the next day.

But I hadn't, and I didn't. Getting up to get my things would have meant moving away from the beautiful sight that was Winnetou. The thought of putting more distance between us than there already was seemed almost physically painful to me.

The other direction – that seemed a lot more reasonable.

Before I could stop myself, I found the tip of my finger tracing a glossy black lock down his neck and shoulder, then another.

He didn’t wake, even as my touch turned into a caress – or if he did, he did not show and admit it.

I moved my hand a fraction, touching skin instead of hair now.

I thought I could see the ghost of a smile tug at his lips. Was he dreaming now? Might he be dreaming of a beautiful woman now, come to wake him from his slumber? I hoped that she'd be blonde at least, that somewhere Winnetou's sleepy mind would merge reality with whatever dream he was currently enjoying.

And then I suddenly found my mind flooded with images of the things that we could be enjoying, together, right there and then.

Even as my body reacted to the very idea, my mind snapped back into reality.

Winnetou's people might not take as strict a stance on the things that I had just almost contemplated, but from the point of view of my own people, those things were just plainly wrong and could not be admitted even in thoughts!

I moved away, the closeness of shared blankets far too overwhelming in my current state.

Only once I had settled on the other side of the fire did I allow myself to contemplate the implications of my thoughts and yearnings.

It was my own hand that brought me relief that night – not much better, if I had asked some of my countrymen.

I did not ask, however. I merely spent that night on watch, facing away from my sleeping friend, staring into the darkness and straining to focus my ears on sounds other than the deep, even breaths that I thought I could still just barely hear in spite of the crackling fire between us.

Winnetou said not a word about it the next morning, merely remarking neutrally on how his brother was up so early and accepting a mug already heated and ready to be drunk.

Somewhere in those dark eyes, however, I thought I saw a trace of a laugh and a hint of a promise. Somewhere down our paths there would come another cold night that would see us bed down together.

And who knew?

Maybe that would be the time for me to break with the traditions of my people.

  
  
Illustration by Rebekah


End file.
